


It Was for Freedom (From Myself and From the Land)

by Chaos_Is_A_Ladder



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo, Fluff, Guess I'll just (runaway), Hitchhiking, Pre-Relationship, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Is_A_Ladder/pseuds/Chaos_Is_A_Ladder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy is running away from her old job and old life and Bobbi is running away from her own wedding. Of course they happen to cross paths on the side of the road</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was for Freedom (From Myself and From the Land)

**Author's Note:**

> AU AU AU
> 
> Done for the hitchhiking square on the femslash february trope bingo
> 
> I love Daisy/Bobbi so much. It's just so much fun to write their dialogue.
> 
> Also posted on my tumblr: http://movepastthefeeling.tumblr.com/post/139367435686/it-was-for-freedom-from-myself-and-from-the-land

“If I was crying, in a van, with my friend,” Daisy half-sings, half-shouts. “It was for freedom, from myself and from the land!”

Daisy knows that Sufjan Stevens isn’t really a musician you shout along to as you speed down the highway, but she doesn’t really are. It’s just how she feels. Shouting along to music is a key part of the vision quest/spiritual journey she’s on, she thinks. Plus, she’s literally in a van right now. So it feels appropriate.

Shouting and screaming and generally acting like a delinquent are also her ways of retroactively rebelling against the stifling atmosphere of the job she so dramatically quit exactly one week ago. She knows those pictures are going to end up all over the internet, but stripping down to nothing as she walked out of that awful office felt like the perfect act of retribution against the overwhelming and frankly sexist corporate dress code of her job-that-was. She didn’t just want to get fired, she wanted to make sure she never got hired in a similar field ever again. Scorched earth, baby.

So, after that, she had decided to just start driving. Daisy feels like she might have had an actual destination when she originally set out, but now, driving from sun up to sun down is the plan unto itself. It feels good just to keep driving, like she’s taking part in some Bruce Springsteen, Americana fantasy.

Daisy isn’t _just_ running away from her problems and everything else because she just can’t deal. No sir. Vision quest. Spiritual journey.

It’s getting late in the afternoon and Daisy rolls down all the windows of her van to let the golden sunshine pour in. That’s when she sees her.

The runaway bride.

Whoever she is, she’s absolutely stunning. Her blonde hair glows in the sunshine and Daisy can see the sparkle of her blue eyes even from far away. The white wedding dress she’s wearing is dirtied and torn, the hem especially frayed and ragged.

Runaway bride is shouting and waving her arms, attempting to flag cars down. Daisy ponders it for about a half-second before slowing down and pulling the van over.

“Need a lift?” Daisy asks, leaning out the driver-side window.

“I do, thank you,” runaway bride says. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Daisy says. “Just, uh, hold on…”

Daisy hastily swipes away old fast food wrappers and jewel CD cases from the passenger-side seat.

“Come on in,” Daisy says.

Runaway bride does so, her tattered wedding dress looking oddly appropriate in the disheveled interior of Daisy’s van. Daisy pulls the van away from the side of the road and starts speeding down the road again.

“I’m Daisy, by the way,” Daisy says.

“Bobbi,” runaway bride answers.

“That’s…different,” Daisy says.

“My real name is Barbara, so the nickname was an easy choice for me,” Bobbi says.

“So, _Barbara_ , I have a couple of guesses as to why you needed a ride…” Daisy says.  

“Yeah. I’m running away from my wedding,” Bobbi says. “It’s a long story. I didn’t really plan beyond that.”

“Great! I’m out here because of poor planning, too,” Daisy says. “I’ve driven here clear from the tristate area.”

“Isn’t that, like, a thousand miles from here?”

“Yeah, give or take,” Daisy says, shrugging.

“What are you running away from?” Bobbi asks.

“I’m not _running_ , per se,” Daisy says. “I’m on a vision quest. Or, like, a Bruce Springsteen/Thunder Road thing.”

“Okay,” Bobbi says, sounding unconvinced.

“Alright, fine, I quit my job in a blaze of glory and now I’m out on the road because I don’t want to work right now and I’m kind of homeless,” Daisy says, hoping that if she speaks quickly enough Bobbi won’t pick up on everything she just said.

“You’re homeless? Should I be concerned?” Bobbi asks.

Daisy feels offended, but she sees a little glimmer of mirth in Bobbi’s eyes.

“I’m technically homeless,” Daisy says. “But I prefer the term ‘habitationally challenged.’”

“You’re living out of this van, aren’t you,” Bobbi says.

“Yup!” Daisy says. “And if we’re going to be riding together, I’m going to have to warn you to not jostle anything in the back. Basically everything I own is back there and I think I may have left my hotplate plugged in.”

“Oh boy,” Bobbi says, exhaling dramatically.

Daisy drives on for a while longer, but it’s getting dark and she’s, frankly, tired of driving. She pulls over at to the side of the road and plans her next move with Bobbi. The moon is obscured by clouds tonight and the pale, silvery light barely illuminates the forested area around them. Daisy kind of feels like this is a place they could get murdered in, but she also feels like tall, Amazonian, runaway bride Bobbi could protect them both.

“Alright, if you’re sure you don’t have any place to be, I say that we find a motel to stay in,” Daisy says. “We could sleep in the back of my van, but the futon I have back there is really meant for one person and you might be taller than my van’s back half is long. Also, we basically just met, and my van-futon is where I’m expecting to one day consummate my marriage. It’s a special place.

Bobbi laughs, and Daisy immediately finds that she loves the sound.

“Why _don’t_ we sleep in here?” Bobbi asks. “I’ve never slept in a van before.”

“Wow, your wedding must have set your bar really low if you’re willing to spend a night out here with me,” Daisy says.

“You’re not so bad,” Bobbi says with a grin.

“Really?” Daisy asks.

“Well, you have been living out of a van,” Bobbi says. “That’s kind of weird.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve established that fact, _Bobbi_ ,” Daisy says, sounding mock-offended. “Do you want to get something to eat, or anything? I’ve been eating instant ramen, mostly…”

“Hence the hotplate,” Bobbi says.

“Yeah, that,” Daisy says.

“I’m pretty hungry,” Bobbi says. “I could go for some really shitty diner food, or something.”

And Daisy thinks that sounds pretty good, too.

After another half an hour or so of driving, Daisy and Bobbi find herself in a little roadside diner, the kind that’s only frequented by truckers or really desperate tourists. They’re seating quickly and service is prompt – they both order cheeseburgers and milkshakes.

Daisy thinks that Bobbi looks beautiful, even under the cheap fluorescent lights and against the chintzy vinyl booth, looking oddly appropriate in her tattered wedding dress. Daisy’s life has been so surreal lately that picking up a bride on the side of the road seems downright ordinary.

“What is it?” Bobbi asks, breaking Daisy from her thoughts.

Oh, right, Daisy had been staring. How could she resist?

“Nothing,” Daisy says. “How’s the burger?”

“Fantastic,” Bobbi says. “I hadn’t eaten anything all day, I was so nervous about the wedding. And then I sprinted out of the chapel and down the side of the road. That probably didn’t help.”

“Jesus, how bad was the groom?” Daisy asks.

Bobbi chews thoughtfully for a moment.

“He’s not that bad, to be honest,” Bobbi says. “We’re just bad for each other. We were getting remarried, actually.”

“Yikes,” Daisy says.

“When we’re on, we’re on, but when we’re off,” Bobbi says, pausing for effect. “We’re _really_ off. Like, at-each-other’s-throats off. Sometimes literally. Mostly literally.”  

“In those cases, sometimes it’s best to just blow everything up and start over. Sometimes you need to cut all ties with your old life by stripping naked and screaming ‘I’m not a slave of the bourgeoisie,’ and then sprint right out of there.”

“That doesn’t sound like a generalizable experience,” Bobbi says.

“Yeah, no, I literally did that when I quit my job,” Daisy says. “It was awesome, though.”

“I’ve learned so many _interesting_ things about you already,” Bobbi says. “And I feel like there’s still so much more beneath the surface.”

“I’m a woman of great depth, _Barbara_ ,” Daisy says.

Bobbi rolls her eyes, but there’s the ghost of a grin on her face.

Daisy pays for their meal (she insists) and they head back to the van. They’re quickly on the road again as they look for a rest stop or trailer park where they can stop for the night. Bobbi is still adamant about sleeping inside of the van, which Daisy still can’t understand the desire for.

Daisy comes across a trailer park and she pulls over, finding an empty clearing where she can park her van. The clouds have parted and it’s turned out to be a rather beautiful night, the moon reflected silver in the leaves of the trees around them.

The two women take the time to shower at the trailer park facilities. Bobbi’s especially thankful for the chance to clean up, given that she literally did sprint out of her own wedding and is has gotten pretty grimy over the course of the day. Daisy has basically her entire wardrobe with her, so she lends Bobbi a pair of pajama pants and a ratty old band tee (Sleater-Kinney, one of Daisy’s favorites) to wear.

Soon, the two women find themselves standing outside the back of Daisy’s van, inspecting the area they’re soon to be sleeping in.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Daisy asks again. “I want to stress the fact that we met this afternoon. I could very well turn out to be a crazy person and, I don’t know, try to smother you in your sleep with a handful of socks as a way of dealing with traumatic childhood experiences or something.”

“What?” Bobbi asks.

“I had a really weird roommate a couple of years ago,” Daisy says off-handedly as she opens up the back of the van.

“I’m sure, Daisy,” Bobbi says. “I just ran away from my own wedding. I’m ready to embrace being crazy for a bit.”

“I hope you’re ready to embrace back pain, too, because this futon is really old,” Daisy says.

Daisy starts to clear out the back of her van and set up the futon, which somehow seems even smaller than it was before. At least the sheets should be relatively clean.  

“You have a real natural talent at building things up,” Bobbi says. “You’re a real Albert Lasker.”

“I don’t understand that reference, but I’m going to take it as a compliment,” Daisy says. “Hey! I didn’t leave my hotplate plugged in!”

“Yeah, immolation wasn’t really high on my list of things to do today,” Bobbi says.

“Anyway, here’s where the magic happened,” Daisy says, pausing for a moment. “That was a weird thing to say. This is the shitty futon I’ve been sleeping on.”

It really isn’t much, and Daisy still isn’t sure if the Amazonian-proportioned Bobbi will even fit inside.

“Again, are you sure you want to sleep here? I can totally drive us to, like, a motel, or something,” Daisy says.

Bobbi ignores her, though, and crawls into the back of the van. She lies down on her back on the futon.

“Alright, then,” Daisy says to herself.

Daisy crawls in after her and closes the back door. She has the windows of her van angled open so they can get some ventilation through the night. She then lies down next to Bobbi, their sides pressed into one another’s.

Daisy suddenly feels very shy, like a teenage lover sharing her bed with someone for the first time.

“I like the moonroof,” Bobbi comments.  

“It’s nice, yeah? It’s a really clear night. You can see the moon and the stars and everything,” Daisy says, trying not to sound like the awkward teen that she feels like.

“Do you know any constellations?” Bobbi asks.

“Yeah. You see those five stars over there?” Daisy asks, pointing upwards.

“Mmm,” Bobbi acknowledges.

“Well, those make up the brightest five stars that I can see from here,” Daisy says. “I don’t know any constellations.”

Bobbi laughs.

“Well, it is a really nice night, anyway,” Bobbi says.

“Yeah,” Daisy says.

They’re both silent for a moment, watching the imperceptibly slow arcs of the stars above as the Earth continues to spin.

“What are you _really_ running away from?” Bobbi asks suddenly.

“Responsibility. Being an actual adult,” Daisy answers, without really thinking about it.

It turns out that truth has been bubbling just below the surface the entire time.

“What about you?” Daisy asks.

“Repeating the same mistakes over and over again until I die,” Bobbi says.

“I think we’re all running away from that,” Daisy says. “At least a little bit.”  

“I don’t know if that’s comforting or really, really terrifying,” Bobbi says.

“Probably both,” Daisy says. “I try to focus on the positives, though.”

“Such as?” Bobbi asks.

“Well, it turns out the whole Jack Kerouac thing of hitting the road and just driving in a direction is pretty fun,” Daisy says. “I’m, at the end of the day, super glad that I left my job. It sucked. I probably could have done so in a more graceful way, but whatever, y’know? Sometimes you just have to follow your heart.”

“Definitely sounds like more pros than cons,” Bobbi says.

“Plus, for whatever reason, a really awesome lady decided to come along for the ride, just for a little bit,” Daisy says, feeling extraordinarily lame and corny. “So that’s pretty cool.”

“‘A really awesome lady?’” Bobbi asks, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I regretted those words right as they were coming out of me,” Daisy says.

“I’m glad you like me so much,” Bobbi says. “Although I could still turn out to be a crazy hitchhiking axe murderer.”

“True,” Daisy says. “But I think I’ll take a chance on you.”  

“Good,” Bobbi says simply, turning onto her side. “Good night, Daisy.”

Daisy shifts her position as well, her body mirroring Bobbi’s. “Good night.”

They stay like that for a moment too long. Daisy finds herself enraptured by Bobbi’s very beautiful, very blue eyes and her lovely, soft-looking lips. For half a second there, Daisy thinks that Bobbi is leaning in, but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

Bobbi smiles at Daisy, a pure, wonderful thing, before rolling over onto her back. Daisy does the same, and they both fall asleep beneath the pinpricks of light from distant stars on the futon in the back of the van. Freedom has never felt quite so good.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a slut for feedback.


End file.
